Release
by peanutbuttervibes
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy have been drunkenly hooking up for months (just as friends, of course) but one night they don't make it to a bed. Or even inside.


_If you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it to a bed._

Clarke, Raven, and Octavia's joint graduation celebration was going swimmingly—at least it was for Clarke. With nothing weighing on her mind other than what sort of alcohol to consume next, she was peachy. The previous months had been a stressful, never ending blur of stress and exhaustion. Her last quarter in college had been a wild ride, one she wanted to hurl herself off of _many_ times, but she was proud as hell that she finished. And she was insanely proud of Raven and Octavia who had struggled just as much as her. Many late nights were had in Octavia's apartment cramming for exams and studying like fiends. As grateful as she was for the home base to study and get constant moral support, there was one thing that drove her crazy. And that one thing was—

"Bellamy," she said flatly, slurring her words a bit—when did she get drunk enough to slur her speech? "What are you staring at?"

She had a cocktail hanging out of her hand, empty, one of those fruity, girly drinks with an obscene pink umbrella hanging haphazardly on the edge as she gestured loosely with her hand. She had tipped her large glass almost upside down over her face in order to get any remaining drops of precious alcohol when the ice followed the traitorous rules of gravity and assaulted her face. Of course Bellamy had picked that exact moment to come talk to her.

"Enjoying your drink, princess?" he asked through his smirk.

"Clearly," Clarke retorted. If she was going to get caught doing something embarrassing, she might as well own it. She also may have had trouble stringing together a full sentence when she finally gave him a full once-over and saw that his already tight black v-neck was made even tighter and more revealing by the slight sheen of sweat that made it cling to his chest and abs. But that was irrelevant.

Bellamy took a step closer to her, just inches from her. He narrowed his eyes playfully and brushed her upper lip with his thumb where the moisture from the ice was clinging to her skin. "You've got a little something there…" he murmured, with his hand holding her jaw still while he rid the droplets of water from her mout.

You see, this was a part of their game. It had been about six weeks since their first drunken hookup—although Clarke was not nearly as drunk as she pretended to be. But Bellamy didn't need to know that. Since then, any time there was alcohol involved, especially when there was also dancing, it was like an unspoken agreement: they would hook up. Casually. No big deal, no pressure. They didn't talk about it afterward. It didn't make their everyday interactions more agreeable; if anything, it made them more combative. Except now, when they argued, that angry, pulsing rage that only Bellamy could coax out of Clarke morphed into an insatiable sexual energy that would build and build for days until they would finally both get drunk and fall into bed together. Or into the couch. Or into the shower. Or onto Octavia's kitchen table where they would all gather just a few hours later in their morning-after-drinking haze and Bellamy and Clarke would both hide their smirks of satisfaction and excitement.

Clarke's mouth fell open the slightest bit and his eyes flickered down to her lower lip. With their close proximity, she could see his pupils dilating even in the darkness of the club, the black bleeding into the white of his eyes. This was also part of their game. The teasing. The playing. The discreet toying they did with each other, neither admitting to it, both enjoying it immensely. Clarke would wear her silk pajama shorts and tank top set without a bra when she slept at Octavia's place. Bellamy would cook them breakfast in a worn out, thin wifebeater, showing off his muscular arms and shoulders. Clarke would bend over, pushing her butt up into the air whenever she dropped something around him—and maybe she became a little more clumsy when she was around him. Bellamy would press his thigh up against hers whenever they found themselves sitting next to each other. Things only escalated when they had been drinking, hence his thumb that was currently caressing her lips.

Clarke could feel her cheeks burning under his intense gaze, but she maintained eye contact. "You're playing a dangerous game, Blake," she said huskily. His eyes crinkled with a pleased smile as he slid his hand down and curled it around the back of her neck. He lowered his mouth to her ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin gently as she shivered.

"Dance with me," he murmured. Clarke could already feel the anticipatory warmth and wetness in her panties as she imagined her body pressed against his, moving to the music.

She closed her eyes briefly in an attempt to gain control of herself before intertwining her fingers with his and dragging him into the center of the hot, writhing mass of bodies on the dancefloor. The song playing had a sensual, slow rhythm and she instantly began to sway her curvy hips to the beat, swiveling and shaking at appropriate times in the song. Bellamy fell right into rhythm with her and snaked his arms around her waist, holding her flush to him. Her breasts pushed against his chest, their hips pressed together (after he lowered himself a couple inches to her height—she cursed her genes for making her so short) and their faces were dangerously close. She could feel his hot breath on her mouth and his huge hands cover the expanse of her back, sitting right above the top of her jeans. His fingers were brushing the little inch of skin exposed by her blouse riding up. She swung her arms up around his neck and pulled his face into her neck, a position which he gladly accepted. Their hips pressed directly together, grinding into each other.

Clarke, determined to get him as worked up as she felt, slipped out of his grasp and traced her hands over his defined chest while slowing sliding her body down his, keeping eye contact one hundred percent of the way. The slight twitch of his jaw let her know she was already affecting him just as much as he was affecting her—as well as the bulge in his pants. She let herself linger at zipper level for a second before shaking her way up to a standing position. He took a purposeful step forward, his eyes dark and hooded. As he reached for her, Clarke gave him a look. A look that clearly said "look, don't touch."

She saw him gulp, literally _gulp_ , and stand stone still. Watching, waiting. For her to put on a show. Clarke's hips started moving again and she began shaking her hair, running her fingers through it, mussing it up, giving herself the most obscene sex hair possible. Her hands moved from her hair down to her neck, following the curve down to her chest and grazing over her breasts. The groan that escaped his mouth sent shooting bursts of arousal straight through her body and she lost all will power. She gave a half spin and started shaking her ass gratuitously, before looking over her shoulder and crooking her finger in a _come hither_ motion and winking with a big, goofy, sexy grin on her face. A laugh escaped Bellamy before he pressed himself firmly against her ass, his hands gripping the tops of her thighs and hip bones through her skirt while she shimmied the fuck out of the song. She alternated between fast shaking and slow grinding—up and down, side to side, circling…she was relentless.

One of his hands slipped up under her already-riding-up shirt to press against her toned stomach. She brought a hand up behind her head to put behind his neck and clutch his hair tightly. His hand on her stomach and its proximity to her breasts (just because his hand was big enough to cover almost the entire expanse of her stomach and ribcage) made her breath hitch and her heartbeat quicken When his hand began stroking her sensitive abdomen, she gave his hair an approving tug and tippled her head back a little, exposing her white neck, which he immediately took advantage of. The feeling of his lips on her neck made her eyes close as she lost herself in the sensation. His lips found their way up to her ear as the licked, kissed and nibbled before asking, "You ready to get out of here yet?"

She nodded ferociously. Bellamy grasped her hand, stroking her palm with his thumb as he led her through the pulsing mass of bodies toward the entrance. Clarke prayed they didn't run into Octavia or Raven as they were leaving because if she looked even half as turned on as Bellamy, it would be pretty clear where they were going.

Clarke breathed in the cool night air greedily once they made it onto the street, walking quickly down towards Bellamy's apartment. It was an unspoken agreement—Octavia would probably spend that night at Lincoln's place, so they would have the apartment to themselves. Just the thought made her stomach jolt and her fingers tightened their hold on his hands. They turned a corner onto a deserted side street in the city and Clarke made the snap decision to shove Bellamy firmly into the wall with her two hands planted on his chest. He let out a shocked gasp and she relished in the feeling of being able to surprise him.

Clarke's hands left his chest and pulled his face down to hers as her pliant lips opened to him immediately. His tongue swept over her lips and she met him in the middle, stroking slowly. His arms encircled her waist tightly and drew her to him, hungrily kissing her back. Clarke felt him spin them around, keeping her enclosed in his arms, pressing her back hard against the brick wall. The slight scrape of the wall in combination with the slow, probing kiss from Bellamy drew an embarrassingly loud moan from her lips and Bellamy pulled away from her, resting his forehead to hers, panting. Clarke looked up at him with her eyebrows threaded together and hooded eyes, her lips parted and swollen. Her head was instinctually tilting up toward his as she tried to get close enough to kiss him again.

"If you keep looking at that, we won't make it to a bed," Bellamy strained, trying to gain control of his breathing.

"Maybe I don't want to make it to a bed," she whispered, her cheeks flushed and her hips shifting forward to press against his. His eyes glazed over and he stopped breathing for a second—Clarke took advantage of his stunned silence and grabbed the back of his head, dragging his mouth down to hers. The second their lips touched, he roared back to life again, his hands sliding down over her ass and lifting her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He grinded slowly into her as he slid his hands up her shirt and over her breasts, keeping her pinned to the wall with his hips.

He cupped her ample breasts and groaned from deep within his chest at the perfect weight of them in his hands. He roughly tugged the bottom of her bra and shirt up, exposing her tits to the cool air, her nipples already hard and aching. He lowered his head from her mouth and began to worship her chest, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses everywhere, enveloping her nipples in his warm, inviting mouth, teasing them with his tongue, gently nipping and sucking at them. Clarke's back arched as she let out little needy whimpers at his ministrations.

Clarke let out a surprised gasp as Bellamy abandoned her nipples and roughly grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head against the wall. He held both of her wrists there with one hand as he returned to his licking, kissing, and biting, this time much slower and more teasing. Her arms strained against his tight hold so that she could touch him, clutch his hair, squeeze his biceps—anything. He was driving her crazy.

"Bellamy… _fuck,_ " she ground out. She managed to slip a hand out of his grasp and immediately brought it down to his head, scratching at his scalp and pulling his hair desperately. Bellamy, to her disappointment, forcibly unwrapped her legs from his waist and set her gently on the ground. He began to leave a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach to the top of her skirt. He knelt down and ran his hands down her hips to the hem of her sinuously short, skin tight skirt. It had ridden up when her legs were wrapped around him, so it barely covered the tiny lacy underwear she was wearing underneath. Clarke stood still, legs shaking as he began to plant gentle kisses against her inner thighs, nudging one of her knees to step sideways and spread her legs.

Clarke was breathing so fast she was almost hyperventilating. The danger of being outside in public at 2am, being so exposed, being a little bit drunk—all combined to give her an intoxicating feeling of dizziness and pure arousal. When she felt him push her skirt up over her ass, she held her breath. And when she felt his nose nudge her pussy through the thin layer of lace of her panties, her hips unconsciously bucked toward him. She looked down to find him looking straight into her eyes as he hooked his pointer finger on her panties and tugged them gently to the side. Her mouth fell open as she simultaneously watched and felt his tongue flatten and press up against her throbbing, sensitive clit. At the contact, her knees buckled and he easily caught her, lifting her thighs up so they rested on his shoulders and she was suspended against the wall. And then he buried his face into her pussy.

Clarke abandoned all attempts at remaining quiet and completely forgot about where they were. Her hands found his hair and gripped on for dear life as her hips instinctually swiveled and ground into his face, wetting his mouth and chin with her arousal. She felt the hum of Bellamy moaning into her when she grinded into his face and he quickened his pace, alternating between teasing her entrance and flicking his tongue relentlessly over clit. One of her hands found its way up to her breast, cupping it and tweaking the nipple forcefully as her orgasm built up inside her. As the movements of her hips became more jerky against his face and he felt her legs start to quiver, Bellamy dug his fingers into her thighs and held her in place so he could force her over the edge.

Clarke and Bellamy were both laughing as she came down from her orgasm, her legs twitching and chest heaving. Clarke's eyes were closed and she had an easy, satisfied smile on her face as Bellamy stared up at her from between her legs.

"God, Clarke," he murmured. "You're so beautiful."

She opened her eyes to see him gazing up at her with a look on her face she'd caught him making a couple different times—usually after he made her come. His chin was glistening with her come and he had a faint smile.

"C'mere," she said, giving his hair a little tug.

He gently set her weak legs down on the ground and stood up, his face hovering in front of hers. Their eye contact continued, much more intense now.

"You…you've never called me that before," she whispered. His eyebrows furrowed questioningly. "Beautiful," she clarified in a whisper.

"Clarke…" he whispered. He looked down concernedly in her self-conscious eyes and brought his lips down to cover hers gently as he stroked her jaw with the hands he brought up to her neck. The kiss, although it was tame compared to their previous ones, made Clarke's stomach flip and heart jolt. She could feel him showing her how beautiful he thought she was. The buzzing emotion of his kiss felt like it was vibrating inside her and somehow inflating her. It made her feel light and floaty—like if Bellamy wasn't gently pressing her into the wall, she could've floated away. As she tried to convince herself it was probably just the alcohol, she realized that she hadn't truly felt drunk at all since they were still in the club. All of these feelings, the dizziness, the lack of inhibitions, that buzzing feeling in her bloodstream, these were all caused by Bellamy.

She pressed her lips harder into his and felt the hardness of him through his jeans against her.

"Bellamy," she murmured quietly into his mouth. He hummed in response. She ran her hands down his chest and stomach, tracing his defined muscles contentedly, skimming her nails gently over the contours of his body. He sighed into her mouth and she breathed it in, sharing his breath. As his hips began to move just slightly into hers, she slid her hands down to his jeans and hooked her fingers into the tops of them. He gasped and she took the opportunity to take his exposed bottom lip in between her teeth and nibble gently, before running her tongue over it and sucking lightly. Her hands purposefully unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped his pants.

"Clarke," he protested weakly. "You don't have to—"

She cut him off when she slipped one of her small hands into his boxer briefs, firmly grasping his member, stroking him a few times slowly.

"Shut up," she grinned into his mouth. "I want you. Now."

"You don't have to tell me twice, Princess," he smirked before lifting her by the ass once again to lean up against the wall as he pushed his underwear and pants down to free his cock. She slipped her hand down in between them to wrap her fingers around him, teasing him and spreading the pre-cum over the sensitive tip. He returned the favor by sliding his fingers into her panties and pulling them to the side again and spreading the copious amount of arousal over her, making her nice and slick for him. The heel of his palm teased her clit as he slipped a finger inside her, and then a second one, testing her readiness.

Clarke let out a particularly wanton moan and she felt his hips jump against her. He pulled his fingers out, Clarke sighing at the lack of contact, before she felt him press the tip of himself against her. He lined himself up and pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes rolling back as he buried into her. He stayed inside her for a moment, eyes closed, as Clarke wiggled her hips trying to increase the friction. Finally, he began to move.

Once he started thrusting and grinding, there was no controlling the noises they both made. He caught her lips with his and tried to swallow her insistent moans, but it didn't do much. Both of them were desperately moving their hips together, building up higher and higher together.

"Clarke," he growled. "I can't…not much longer…"

She caught his meaning and slid her hand in between them where their bodies were joined and spread her slickness over her clit, rubbing it in tight, small circles to hurry herself along. She moaned loudly into his mouth as she built herself up quickly to the edge and, when she reached it, launched herself over it, falling and falling. Her back arched and her hips undulated into him—her fingers abandoned her clit and she rode out her orgasm on the friction of his hips as he reached his own release with her cunt clutching him tightly. Their mouths remained pressed together throughout both of their releases, gasping and panting into each other's mouth.

Now, Clarke felt Bellamy's head droop against her shoulder and she pressed her lips against his neck. She felt an amazed laugh bubbling up inside her, her chest shaking and lips spreading into a wide smile. As her laugh spilled out, she felt her eyes tear up and all of a sudden, there were tears falling, tracing her smile, making her tongue sting with their salty taste.

Bellamy's concerned face quit nuzzling her shoulder and he brought his thumb up to wipe away the tears on her cheeks.

"Are you okay? Clarke?" he asked desperately. "I'm sorry Clarke, I shouldn't have…"

"No!" she choked. "No. Bellamy, no. It's n-not that."

"What is it, then?" he questioned, stroking her hair and kissing her tear-streaked cheeks. His comforting actions only succeeded in making her cry harder, her shoulders shaking as the sobs wracked her chest.

"I'm s-s-sorry," she whimpered through gasps. Bellamy shook his head fiercely and pulled her head into his shoulder while stroking her hair.

"Do you want me to take you back to your place?" he asked gently, trying to figure out how to help her. She shook her head quickly. He hesitated and asked, "my place?" She immediately nodded. "Okay, come on honey. Can you stand up for a second?"

She nodded slightly and he lowered her softly to the ground and pulled her skirt and shirt down for her so she was less exposed. He quickly tucked himself into his pants and zipped and buttoned them up before bending down and sliding his arm under her knees and his other arm behind her back, scooping her up bridal style. She curled her body into his, clutching his shirt and nuzzling his chest, hiccupping a little bit as her sobs began to subside. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest, her hair cover her face, creating a cavern that smelled comfortingly like Bellamy—which made sense seeing as he was cradling her into his chest, she realized.

By the time they reached his apartment, Clarke's crying had quieted down to occasional sniffles and the most powerful emotion that remained was a deep, deep humiliation. Naturally, she just buried her face more deeply into his chest so he wouldn't see how red her burning face was. As he maneuvered her in through the door of the apartment, he immediately brought her to his room, where she had spent a surprisingly high number of nights in the past few months. He set her down gently on the bed and lowered himself next to her, a respectful distance between her. His face was unreadable, almost angry-looking and Clarke felt an anxious pang in her stomach. Of course she had freaked him out. She just started crying hysterically after sex. He probably thought it was because of him.

And, now that she thought about it, it was partly because of him. She'd had the world's longest few months with that last quarter of classes. Between almost failing her final graphic design class—which was required for her art major, god knows why—and nearly breaking her mind and body to finish her final portfolio, she was completely mentally drained. Along with the random hookups with Bellamy that she just told herself meant nothing even though, in hindsight, those bubbly feelings in her stomach she had when she saw him were probably evidence enough that she kind of liked him. More than "kind of," in fact.

She was in love with Bellamy Blake.

She'd realized it somewhere in between the ( _second_ ) mind-blowing orgasm he'd given her and when she'd started laughing. She'd never felt the way she felt about Bellamy with anyone else before, and not just with the sex (although, obviously the sex was amazing). Even though he made her blood positively boil, when he coaxed a laugh out of her, it was the most amazing feeling. And when he looked her in the eyes, she could feel the rest of the room melt away and it literally felt like they were the only two people on earth. Straight out of the Kiera Knightley version of Pride & Prejudice. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't believe it took her this long to figure it out. They practically were Darcy and Lizzy. The banter, the initial distaste for each other, the unlikely transition to friendship. Although, to be fair, Clarke was _pretty_ sure Darcy and Lizzy didn't get drunk and fuck a couple times before finally getting together.

"Bellamy," she croaked, her voice low and scratchy from all the crying. She cleared her throat and tried again: "Bellamy."

He refused to look at her. She could tell by the way his jaw clenched and he stared straight ahead. She could sense the self-loathing from there as he probably beat himself up for "taking advantage of her" or something equally ridiculous.

"Bellamy! Would you look at me?" she said sharply. That finally got his attention. His head snapped toward her and he looked fiercely into her eyes.

"Clarke, I'm so sorry," he said in a low voice. "I'm sorry if I pushed you or if I've been reading our relationship all wrong these past few weeks. I just thought…I'm sorry."

"Oh god, no, Bellamy," she blurted out with wide eyes. "I wasn't crying because of anything you did. Well…I was, but not in the way that you think." She looked up at him desperately, her eyes searching his. "You know how stressful this last quarter has been for me. I stretched myself so thin. I think maybe the…physical release…triggered some sort of emotional release in me. Like all of this stress had been building up inside me and it finally all just came pouring out when I finished with my classes. And then when you called me beautiful…" She trailed off.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No!" she nearly yelled. "It didn't make me uncomfortable. The opposite, actually. I think after I finished, it kind of caught up with me that you called me beautiful. And I had kind of a rush of emotion. I know that sounds stupid because obviously it probably didn't mean anything, it's just something you say to people you're fucking. I mean, obviously you must find me attractive if you're willing to have sex with me, right? So it shouldn't be surprising. But…after I heard you say that, I guess I sort of realized something."

Bellamy had furrowed his eyebrows throughout her nervous rambling and had made to speak up in the middle of it, but Clarke had held up her hand to stop him.

"What I realized is… _IthinkImightbeinlovewithyou,_ " she blurted out and then determinedly stared down at her nervous, wringing hands. She kept talking, looking down the whole time. "And I know that's crazy because you probably don't feel the same way. This is probably just sex to you and that's fine—"

"Clarke!" he interrupted her. Her head snapped up and her eyes met his, the slightest tinge of hope sparking them. "You're an idiot."

He pulled her legs to rest on top of his and pressed his hand to her cheek while he kissed her lips with a smile. Clarke pulled back with a confused smile. "Wait, why am I an idiot?" she asked.

"Everyone and their mother knows I've been in love with you for years," he said matter-of-factly. "In fact, I think even _your_ mother knows."

"You're…you're in love with me?" she asked hopefully.

"Princess," he said, like he was talking to a child. "The first time we hooked up after Raven's birthday party, you woke up to me cooking you breakfast. I stare at you lovingly from across rooms, or so I've been told by many people. I came and got you when you called me at midnight after your car broke down. I helped you study for your finals. I call you 'princess' for Christ's sake."

"I thought…I don't know!" Clarke protested. "I thought that was just a friend thing. I thought you were doing the same types of things for Raven and Miller and Octavia."

"Okay, I _definitely_ don't do the same types of things for them," he smirked at her. "Especially that thing I did earlier…"

Clarke smacked him in the chest, laughing. "Okay, I didn't mean _that_ , obviously!"

They looked at each other for a second with wide, goofy smiles on their face. "So wait," Clarke said. "You're in love with me?!"

Bellamy's face got a little more serious and he cradled her face in his hands.

"I'm in love with you… _princess_ ," he said with a cute little smirk.

Clarke let a smile spread over her face before saying, "I love you too. Sorry for being an idiot."

"It's okay," Bellamy reassured her, maneuvering her body so she was straddling him so that he could put his arms around her waist and kiss her. In between sweet kisses, he said, "I love you anyway."


End file.
